


with a taste of your lips

by galaxyeyedrops, Horus



Category: Kamen Rider 555, Kamen Rider Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:43:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyeyedrops/pseuds/galaxyeyedrops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horus/pseuds/Horus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“However…” Kiba said with a laugh and a wink, “I’ll accept a kiss and we can call it even.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	with a taste of your lips

“Your debt is quickly accumulating,” Kiba joked later that evening, once they were safe. “At this rate,  you’re going to end up seriously owing me.”

“Hah?” Takumi wasn’t exactly paying attention. “What do you mean? Owe you how?”

Kiba paused to think for a moment before leaning slightly in to Takumi’s personal space. The younger boy frowned at this, backing up as far as he could against the couch.

“Well, I made up for all those jobs you ruined, so you probably owe me money, and then I saved you, so you owe me for that…” He said, raising a finger for each point. “And I did let you get away with nearly stealing my car and living like such a wreck. Really, I suppose you owe me several things.”

Takumi groaned. This wouldn’t be the first time he had to pay back more than he could afford. The money would probably be a good bit by itself, and then Kiba would launch into a lecture on how he wanted Takumi to live like a good man, because he _believed in him_ or whatever.

Takumi was not a good man, and he wasn’t sure he was capable of living as a good man (or even a functional member of society, not with his attitude).

“However…” Kiba said with a laugh and a wink, “I’ll accept a kiss and we can call it even.”

Takumi froze, briefly, his brain running a million miles an hour. Just a kiss? A kiss for all that money, that awful lecture, and that was it? It didn’t exactly seem like a fair trade (even if it was his first), but he’d take what he could get. Besides, Kiba never specified on what kind of kiss it had to be.

 

He scoots over to Kiba’s side of the couch, knees digging into worn cloth, and leans over, putting a hand on either side of Kiba’s face.

Kiba blinks, confused, up at Takumi.

Takumi squeezes his eyes shut, presses chapped lips against Kiba’s cheek, right below his eye, and quickly pulls back, his own cheeks dusted with red.

Kiba won’t deny it, he’s shocked. He’d just been about to say _Takumi, it’s a joke. Don’t worry, you don’t owe me anything_ , when Takumi  went ahead and followed through.

It wasn’t as though he’d never been kissed before, but there was something about it being Takumi that made this moment, well…

“I-I,” he stutters, feeling a blush spread over his cheeks. “That was a joke, Takumi, I’m really sorry--”

“It’s fine,” Takumi spits out, unable to meet Kiba’s eyes. “Just forget about it.”

“Forget what?” Mari asks from the doorframe, Keitaro peering inquisitively over her shoulder. She’s grinning like she knows everything, and Takumi finds himself screaming internally: there’s no possible way he’s ever going to live this down.

Kiba manages to look the right amount of confused and polite, despite the fact that he’s as surprised as Takumi is (or at least seems to be, Takumi isn’t crossing off any options).

His own face is still frustratingly red, Mari and Keitaro step even closer, and well, Takumi’s life had taught him that _out_ would be the best option here. He rises from the couch, feet hitting bare tile and looks at them all with all the confidence he doesn’t have.

“I’m leaving,” he declares, leaning down and grabbing his work bag off the floor.

“But Tak-kun,” Keitaro says, voice reproachful. “ _You live here_.”

Takumi looks around, blushing even brighter. “I’m leaving this room, then. I’m- I’m going to take care of the laundry.” He turns and walks out of the room, with all the dignity he can afford, only to see Kusaka smirking behind a pile of linens.

“So,” he says, grin impossibly wide. “I heard things getting pretty _hot and heavy_ in the other room.”

Takumi groans.

***

“Please,” Takumi begs. “Just stop this. _Please_.”

Kiba smiles, professional, none of it reaching his eyes.

“I have to do this,” he says.

Takumi grits his teeth. “No _you don’t_. Yuka’s dead, those people…” He pauses, takes a breath. “Are dead. Nobody else has to be.”

“And that’s--”

“No.” Takumi grabs him by the collar, hands wrinkling the starched cloth. “You don’t,” he repeats.

Tears cling to the corners of Takumi’s eyes and it’s without thinking that Kiba leans up and presses their lips together.

It’s awkward at first, kisses generally are, but they find a rhythm quickly, tempo increasing and increasing, desperation and inexperience driving them to bump noses more than once in their attempts to get more and more contact. He thinks for a moment that Takumi might be crying, or close to it, because of how his breath hitches for a moment, bordering on a stifled sob.

Takumi’s lips are warm against his own, each breath hotter and hotter still. Kiba might have been the one to initiate but it’s Takumi that pulls him closer, sucks him in, his hands pressed into Kiba’s back like shackles.

Their tongues intertwine and Kiba feels himself falling, wishes he could stay like this for the rest of his life, for the rest of eternity, just him and Takumi.

(He wishes and wishes but he knows that they can’t.)

And so Kiba, the one to start the kiss, is the one to break it off. He steps back, a wet pop as lips break apart, and runs a hand over his suit, smoothing out any recently acquired creases.

He looks into Takumi’s eyes, sees the disappointment returning and knows this is for the best. Takumi stares back with cold acknowledgement, a bitter look stretched across his face. It’s for the best, Kiba tries to reassure himself, looking  up at the younger boy. _It’s necessary._

It doesn’t matter if he wonders, briefly, what it would be like to fling himself back into Takumi’s arms, to hold on to the other like a lifeline, to apologize and go back to the way things had been before Yuka’s death. It doesn’t matter if he wonders what it’d be like to wake with Takumi next to him each morning, that ridiculous hair and elusive, wolfish grin greeting him with the sun. It doesn’t matter, because it can’t happen. Won’t happen.

“Goodbye,” he says, turning around and walking away.


End file.
